Dog Days
by SophieB
Summary: SLASH. Sirius is captured and locked up in Malfoy Manor. Draco is home for summer holidays. They clash. Progression from there. **CHAPTER 2**
1. Lazy Summer Afternoons

**Dog Days (1/?)**

**Author:** Adenosine

**Author e-mail:** sophia3b@yahoo.com

**Rating:** R

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling.  No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Summary:** Sirius Black is captured by Death Eaters.  Draco Malfoy comes to visit him in his cell in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor and the two form a tenuous, cautious relationship of sorts as they spend their summer together.  Dementors, dogs, death-eaters, dragons, and dungeons pretty much sums it up.  Draco/Sirius, though it's really mostly infatuated one-sided obsessive hormonal teenage angst on Draco's part, with a reluctant and mostly unaccommodating Sirius trying to deal with his loss of freedom and the memories it brings back.  Draco's confused and Sirius is trying to do the right thing.  This takes place the summer after Draco's sixth year.

**A/N:** Can anyone say jailbait?  This is a Draco/Sirius story, albeit reluctantly.  The relationship is mostly one-sided; Draco wants him while Sirius is battling it out in his own head trying to do the right thing and all that rot.  I myself don't approve of this pairing the way I've written them, but then not everything in the world is all light and feathers is it.  The rest of the chapters will be a bit longer…call this a prologue.

Just thought this was interesting…

Main Entry: **dog days**  
Function: _noun plural_  
Etymology: from their being reckoned from the heliacal rising of the Dog Star (Sirius)  
Date: 1538  
**1** **:** the period between early July and early September when the hot sultry weather of summer usually occurs in the northern hemisphere  
**2** **:** a period of stagnation or inactivity

Dog Days 

**Session 1: Lazy summer afternoons.**

The sting of the cold floor was what drew him awake.  It was abrupt, not gradual or at all in a pleasant way like being woken by the warm rays of the morning sun on your face might have been.  One moment he was asleep, dreaming as he always dreamed—of that night, those cold walls that encased him for so many years—and the next his eyes had snapped open, a shriek escaping his lips as the icy chill penetrated his flesh through his worn garments.  He jumped off the ground standing on wobbly legs and looked about him.

It was nice, the times when he could wake from those nightmares and find himself safe, hidden away in a warm shed or underneath someone's front steps out of the rain, or even better, the Shrieking Shack.  Anywhere but back behind those bars.  

But now was not one of those times.  The bars were there, holding him, stealing away his short-lived freedom, casting their shadows across his countenance as the dungeon flames danced a cheeky jig in the face of his predicament.  True these were not the cells of Azkaban, but it nearly made no difference.  Perhaps it was even worse.

Sirius couldn't be sure what it was that the Death Eaters wanted from him and why they didn't just kill him already.  But they hadn't and he was once again held captive.

He shook his head roughly trying to clear his mind.  It was hard to think in such cold dampness.  He hadn't been there long.  Thinking back just two days was still a chore though.  He had the inkling they must have bashed him over the head a fair bit too hard.  But it was coming back now.

It had been a stupid affair.  A man without a wand, without any weapon at all should have been easy to capture.  A simple stunning charm would have been sufficient.  Leave it to the Death Eaters to forgo simplicity for pure physical violence.  He pressed the tender spot at the back of his head and winced.  But it really was his own fault.  

He shouldn't have gone.  Dumbledore _told_ him not to go.  But he'd heard Snape say Peter was going to be there.  And Sirius had some business to discuss with the rat.

Then again, no, not his fault.  Snape's.  Yes definitely Snape's.  Of course he should have know the git would go and give him away.  He would have been perfectly fine.  He would have gone unnoticed as he slunk around the outside of the circle, just a hungry stray attracted by the fire.  No one would have even seen him there.  Stupid Bastard.  As if hissing 'Black what are you doing here?' at some vagrant animal, in the middle of one of Voldemort's long winded speeches would have gone unnoticed.  That man really did piss him off.  

Why couldn't Snape have just kept that big ugly mouth of his shut for once.  Of course someone just _had_ to hear him.  Lucius Malfoy, if Sirius wasn't mistaken.  That hair that peeked out from behind the mask _was_ pretty unmistakable.  And after that, they had moved on him quickly, but he had moved quicker.  He was a dog after all.  He'd almost gotten away too.  But then his paw had got caught in a tree root.  Before he could even yelp Goyle, or was it Crabbe had brought down what seemed like a whole log on top of his head and he was out cold.

But he was wide awake now, and freezing his arse off.  Not to mention all his other essential body parts.  What made it worse was that he knew that outside these walls summer was in full force, knowing nothing of his situation and going about its merry business.

Sirius had never liked summers much during his youth.  They were too lazy.  Too uneventful.  All summer meant was that he and his friends would be separated for two whole months.  Two mischief free months.  Sure, one could theoretically cause mischief on one's own, a postulate he'd proven many times to his mother's chagrin, but it just wasn't the same without James and Remus.  He would have gone through an eternity of McGonagall and stupid, meddling Severus Snape just to be able to stay at school and cause trouble with his partners in crime of the Marauder kind.

Oh but now, now he'd give anything to feel that sun on his pale olive skin.  To have the summer sweat dripping annoyingly down the back of his neck and glistening in his midnight hair.  He'd do anything to get that back.  Summers were precious when you had missed so many of them.

And now here he was missing another one.  To think about it made the stone ever so much colder, the air all the more dank.  He would probably catch pneumonia in no time at all.  If they kept him alive there long enough anyhow.  He had already started to wheeze when he breathed in too deeply, and it had only been two days.

Sirius knew how to count the days in a place like this.  He'd had eleven years experience.  Two days.  And he was already miserable.  _At least I haven't been tortured_.

He frowned with a heavy sigh.  _Yet_…

There were no windows, no means of escape.  The bars were spaced well to do their job.  Even if he transformed he'd never fit through, and he was sure there were plenty of wards blocking any hope of fleeing in any case.  All he could do was wait to be rescued.  If they even knew he was there.  Sirius smiled bitterly to himself, seating himself on the ground.  _Knowing Snape, he probably oh so fortuitously forgot to mention it_.

There was a rustling in the darkness.  Sirius snapped his head in the direction from which it came through the dark archway and a little way down the shallowly lit corridor, near the stone staircase.  He could make out a form in the shadows and he tensed, hoping for once maybe it _was_ Snape, come to free him.  If only he'd be so lucky.  He quickly saw to his reluctant dismay that it wasn't Snape at all.  It was a kid.

It looked like a boy.  He was too short and his build didn't look developed enough to be a man, much too skinny.  He could only make out the silhouette of his face in the splotchy darkness.  Sirius thought for a moment.  He could handle a kid.  Maybe if he talked to him in the right way he could get the child to help him out.  Kids could be pretty reasonable if you just talked to them right.

And Lily was always teasing him…had always teased him about being good with kids.  'Oh Sirius, you're going to make an wonderful father!' she'd chirp, throwing her arms around him and giving James a teasing wink.  He would of course blush every time…Sirius sighed shaking himself from his reverie.  

_That was a long time ago Sirius.  It's too late for any of that_.  Anyhow, he had Harry to look after now.  _If I ever get out of here_, he breathed a heavy sigh once again.  The boy in the shadows started and jerked around abruptly.

"W-who's there?"

Sirius stood and went to the bars, grasping them and pressing his face up against his hands as he peered through the darkness.  "Hey kid, come here a second," he said softly.

"Who me?" came the nervous voice echoing slightly through the corridor.  

Sirius sighed.  "Yeah, just come here a second.  I'm not going to hurt you.  I'm locked up."

The boy looked about him warily and moved forward to Sirius' cell.  Sirius gasped as he came through the shadows, stepping into view.  All thoughts of asking the boy for help slipped from his mind.  "You—You're Lucius's son aren't you?"  

Draco narrowed his eyes at Sirius and turned up his nose in distaste, as if even looking at this man was beneath him.  "Brilliant.  I've never seen such a display of deduction and logic in my life.  You must be some kind of genius," he drawled sarcastically.  

Sirius frowned.  "You're Draco Malfoy all right.  Your reputation precedes you Mr. Malfoy."  He didn't try to hide the mockery in his tone.  It was pointless to be nice now.

Draco scowled.  "And who the fuck are you?"  

Sirius said nothing, smirking quietly at him.  

"Another bit of muggle-loving filth I suppose?  Or perhaps a poor unfortunate mudblood?  Father is going to be upset when I tell him that you were harassing me."  He smiled wickedly.  "He doesn't like it much when someone insults his only son.  In fact he doesn't like it at all.  Unfortunately for you."  He turned to leave.

"Malfoy wait."  

Draco paused a moment, twisting around to face the prisoner once again.  "What?"  

Sirius smiled at him.  "Oh nothing, nevermind."

That infuriated Draco like Sirius had known it would and his smile only grew wider as the boy's face twisted in impatience and contempt.  "What is it?!"

"Well…just tell your father I'm impressed at the job he's done."

Draco's brow furrowed in confusion.

Sirius shook his head, still smiling.  "You see, I didn't think anyone could be a bigger ponce than he is.  But he's obviously trained you well."  

Draco's eyes flashed.  He growled and turned on his heel leaving the dungeons and Sirius laughing gently to himself.

**E/N:** i did this whole thing without hitting the backspace once (though i did run it through spell check).  i'm very proud of myself.  next chapter, draco talks to his father about that mean man in the dungeon who hurt his feelings.  then after that draco defies his father's orders and gets to know mr. black a bit more.  the actual slash bit doesn't happen until i think the fourth chapter.  but i don't think i'll write anymore of this for a while anyway as i'm too busy so it's a moot point.  this is a short multiple chaptered fic so don't expect them to be too much longer than this.  though they will get more interesting.  thanks for reading.


	2. Regrouping

  
**A/N:** I'm sorry for taking so long with this. I can tell by the reviews that people have already lost their patience with me, for which no one can be blamed, but I'm afraid it couldn't be helped. I do appreciate the reviews, though, and the fact that people like this enough to ride my sorry arse about it. And even after all that, all I give you is a filler chapter. A disjointed, confusing filler chapter of questionable quality, written at three in the morning. Shame on me.   


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**Dog Days**

_by Sophie B._

  
  


**Session 2: Regrouping**

  


The patter of feet disrupted the silence of the Manor as a throng of house elves appeared around a bend in one of the upper corridors. They dispersed, running through the hall in a panic -- hopping into suits of armor and behind tapestries -- their wrinkled simian hands wringing in distress as they scurried about. A moment later, the reason for their panic came tromping down the hallway, growling and spitting curses like a dragon spits fire. 

There was more anger and force in his heated steps than should have been possible for such a lithe young man. One unfortunate elf -- which the boy had dubbed Potty (the wrinkled little creature had reminded him of his most _favourite_ schoolmate) -- had failed to hide in time and stood frozen in the middle of the corridor, awaiting the impending doom as the angry body hurried closer and was finally upon the nervous little creature. 

Draco stopped just long enough to swing his foot back and give the elf a hard kick -- causing the tiny thing to tumble head over bitty heal, across the hall and into a full suit of armor. He cursed as the clamor of falling metal rang throughout the foyer, and the nearby tapestries fell as the impact set them off like dominos, before he was off again without a second thought, leaving the house-elves to deal with the mess. Potty the Elf shook his head free of concussion and looked after the boy, his large green eyes growing a lash larger. "Young Master is not happy." 

The others nodded, wringing their hands and scurrying about to re-hang the tapestries and repair the armor as Draco's harsh language continued to reverberate through the hollow halls of the great stone Manor house. 

By the time he reached the main west corridor on the third floor, Draco was panting and in disarray -- his shirt wrinkled where he had twisted the fabric angrily in his fists, his normally neat hair spun into a tumult, his robes long discarded somewhere behind him, sweat making his trousers cling uncomfortably to his thighs, and his cheeks and forehead flushed pink as his long stride carried him along fast and furiously -- hardly the calm, collected individual he was raised to be. 

But he didn't care as what the man had said stuck within his thoughts, setting his restless blood coursing through his veins, racing for revenge. The Impudence! The Outrage! And in his own house -- in _his_ dungeon! Heads would roll! Of course, Draco had one particular head in mind, and this thought brought him directly to the threshold of his father's door. 

His initial enthusiasm for revenge dulled slightly as he looked up at the monstrous double doors that formed a dark gilded Curtain, rising nearly to the ceiling, to block his path. The doors were shut tight, as they most often were. He bit his lip thoughtfully as he went through a mental checklist. 

One, was his father busy? Answer, doors closed...yes, as always. 

Two, was his father in a bad mood? Answer? Draco thought back to the man's behavior during breakfast. Oh yes, now he remembered. Lucius hadn't been at breakfast. That didn't bode well. 

Three, was this important enough to risk interrupting a moody Lucius in the middle of his work? The prisoner's cocky grin flashed briefly across Draco's mind's eye and he frowned. Yes, it was important enough. 

There were two main imperatives within the Malfoy family. One was to gain power, by any means necessary. The other was to, once you've obtained the power, exact revenge on those who stood in your way and anybody and everybody who had ever humiliated or wronged you. 

There were imbeciles a 'plenty in the wizarding world, who thought that they were smarter or better than the Malfoys. And the Malfoys were never lacking in people to have fired, maimed, or killed for trying to play a false hand with them. A Malfoy's duties were to gain power and settle scores. It was about god-given superiority and honour. This was no different. Draco would do his duty by his name. That man would pay! 

Draco raised his hand and knocked timidly, twice on one of the huge slabs of carved mahogany. 

He listened for a moment, before finally, his father's voice came to him soft and gravelly, buffered by the thick wood. "Come in." 

Draco took a breath and cautiously pushed the door open. The room was fairly dark and hardly welcoming. The only light in the room emanated, diffuse and hollow, from a single lamp on the table where Lucius Malfoy was sat, bent over some parchments. He was writing something, pausing every other two seconds to look over his pince-nez to check something or another in a large leather bound book laid open beside him. 

Draco walked forward and stood before the desk, hoping he hadn't interrupted anything too important. Lucius could get grumpy when he was bothered from something important. Well, grumpier, as it were. Draco rarely bothered his father in his study. 

"What is it, Draco?" asked Lucius, without drawing his eyes from his work. 

Draco shuffled nervously. "Umm...." 

"Speak up!" The elder Malfoy still hadn't looked up, and Draco could feel his palms getting balmy. 

"Er, Father I was curious. Who is that man down in the dungeons? The one in holding cell three." 

The scratching of the quill on parchment stopped abruptly. Lucius looked up at his son, removing his glasses. Draco gulped. 

"What were you doing down in the dungeons?" 

Draco blanched slightly. "Nothing! I was just looking around. I thought you'd have all the prisoners cleared out by now, and I was bored, so I was just looking around, and then that man was there, and I left right away. I didn't touch anything, I swear, and I didn't stay down there too long, and I didn't know we'd gotten any new arrivals, and Clive said that there was a really nasty Boggart down there, and I thought maybe I could find it, and I wasn't going to do anything, I was just bored and--" 

"Enough!" Lucius massaged his forehead with one pale hand and sighed as Draco's ramblings trailed off. "What have I told you about that Pengree boy? What have I told you about consorting with those below you?" 

"Not to do it?" 

"That is correct," said Lucius. "I suggest you stop talking to _Clive_, and start acting the upbringing you've been given. That boy lies through his crooked perverted teeth anyhow. You know better than to trust a word that comes out of his mouth. Is your judgment so poor? Have I taught you nothing?" 

"I'm sorry, Sir. It won't happen again. I didn't think it would do any harm to go look though, and I was bored, so--" 

"Draco, you are not to go down there again. Do you understand? It is off limits from now on." Draco nodded, and Lucius looked up at him with consideration gleaming in his ashen eyes. "Why are you bored? Don't you have any work to do? If I'm not mistaken, you had a session with Marcus today. Don't you have any assignments to practice?" 

"Yes, Sir, I was doing them, but I just wanted to take a break and--" 

"Wandering about the manor does you no good. Dawdling and wasting time are the occupations of layabouts and vagabonds, degenerates. I swear you're getting as lazy as those brainless Gryffindors. I'll not hear of you shirking your responsibilities again, do you understand. And I want to hear no excuses." 

There was only one possible response to that. "Yes, Sir," Draco said stiffly. 

Lucius seemed assuaged for the moment and relaxed back in his chair, lacing his fingers as he looked over his son. Draco stood tall and proud inviting the inspection, raising his chin slightly with all the confidence in his manner as he could muster in his present nervous state. His father nodded his approval. Draco felt a crooked smile welling up, but remained impassive as was expected of him. 

Lucius, on the other hand, held no such standards for himself, and a smirk formed suddenly on his face. Draco's brow creased slightly with curiosity. 

His father often threw about dashing grins and clever smirks when out and about around the Manor or in public, but in the formal setting of his study, the look was somewhat misplaced. He looked as if he were a schoolboy with a wicked secret. Draco was quite fond of secrets. They made him feel important and rightly so. 

Never would Lucius waste anything of brilliance on someone un-important. To be in his father's confidences was a position of great privilege. Anyone would be honoured. Only recently had Lucius brought Draco deeper into his world of secrets, and it made Draco giddy to think that his father trusted him so. The boy trained his focus on his father, waiting patiently for whatever tale was occupying Lucius' thoughts to spill forth. 

"But since you _did_ go down there, I suppose it won't do any harm to tell you that the man in the dungeons is Sirius Black," Lucius said simply, his lips twisting even more. 

Draco gasped. "The murderer? What's _he_ doing in the dungeons?!" 

Lucius narrowed his eyes. Draco checked his curiosity and shifted back into the well-bred impassivity that his father demanded. Lucius had often in the past reminded him that such affectations were coarse to his person, the old family heir apparent that he was. Shock and surprise were unbefitting of someone of his stature. Bored intelligence was the more proper projection. Normally, at home it didn't make much difference. 

Lucius could give stern lectures, but he was hardly a slave driver, and of course, the man was busy or away at least one half of the day and fairly unconcerned throughout the other. Draco often got away with acting according to his instincts, as ill bred as they could be at times. But Lucius seemed in an irritable mood at the moment, making everything fair game. 

"I remind you that the world belongs to us. Nothing in it should come as a surprise to you. And if something does, no one should ever know about it. It's those kind of _weaknesses_," Draco cringed slightly at the word that he knew his father uttered always specially for him, "that will be used against you. Do you understand?" 

Draco nodded, "Yes, Sir." 

"I think you've asked enough questions for today. Now stop wasting time and get back to your studies. Your mother will be leaving shortly for Madrid so we will dine early this evening. I expect to hear that you've made some decent progress by that time." Lucius turned back to his parchments, effectively ending the discussion. 

"Yes, Father." Draco turned with a sigh and left dejectedly, his father's soft grumbly mumbles -- something to do with summer holidays being too long -- seeing him to the door. 

Safely out in the hall, he took a moment to curse himself for trying his father's patience. He hadn't really quite done anything, but he should have known better, anyway. If only he'd learned to keep his mouth shut. That was always one of his biggest problems. Lucius was always saying. 

And now he'd gone through all that for hardly anything at all. What _did_ he have? Nothing! He hadn't even a chance to bring up beheading or any of the numerous tortures he'd had in mind for the man in the dungeons -- Sirius Black, Draco now knew. 

Well, at least he knew that one piece more. Sirius Black. Now, when he went back, the man wouldn't be able hold Draco's ignorance over his head in mockery. 

When he went back? 

Should he...his father had said--but then, he could be sneaky this time. Lucius wouldn't have to find out. And he was curious; surely, his father would rather he discovered this shit for himself instead bothering Lucius again. 

Draco's fists clenched and pumped in frustration. He didn't even get to tell his father what the man had said! But now it looked as if it would be up to Draco himself to make Black pay. And he _would_ pay, severely, for not only the insult, but also, for getting Draco in trouble with his father. He wasn't sure just yet what his plan would be, but he'd think of something soon enough. Something _special_. He'd show Black. And maybe impress his father too, while he was at it. He crossed his arms over his chest and set off back down the hall. 

  
  


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**Next Chapter:** This 'next chapter' of which I speak will be out sometime in the distant future. I'm sorry, that's all I can say. It's nearly done but needs a bit of editing. Oh, in case you're wondering, 'Clive' is meant to be just some servant's kid, he's not important at all. Slashiness begins fourth chapter. Once again all apologies for the holdup. Thanks for reading.   
  



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